


me who makes the monsters

by therealw



Series: girl!Mark 'verse [1]
Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, First Time, Genderswap, Harvard Era, Misunderstandings, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Pining, girl!Mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealw/pseuds/therealw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[First posted on LJ in 2011]</p><p>Written for the prompt: Eduardo/girl!Mark, where everyone, including Eduardo, takes one look at girl!Mark's clothes and assumes she's a lesbian. Girl!Mark just thinks people find her totally repulsive, and she's mostly okay with that. One night however, she drunkenly complains to/asks Eduardo about why no boy has ever wanted her, all angsty and heartbreaking. He disabuses her of her misconception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	me who makes the monsters

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt can be found [here](http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/390.html?thread=1428358#t1428358). In this universe, Eduardo rooms with Chris and Dustin, instead of Mark.

"What's the point of being best friends with a lesbian if she never hooks up with anyone?"

"I didn't become Mark's friend in the hopes of her letting me watch while she makes out with other girls, Dustin."

"That's right," Chris chimes in. "She just followed him home one day and you know how Wardo here feels about lost puppies."

"Fuck you. _Both_ of you. If this was your argument for getting more male friends, you're failing quite spectacularly."

Although the truth is, being best friends with a lesbian isn't all it's cracked up to be. At least if the lesbian in question is Mark Zuckerberg. Or if your name is Eduardo Saverin, and you were somehow slow enough on the uptake that you weren't able to tell at first sight that she wouldn't be interested in you no matter what, the way everyone else seems capable of, before you developed some... _inconvenient_ feelings for her.

In retrospect, of course, Eduardo realizes the name she insists everyone call her by should've been his first clue. Although, maybe because Eduardo grew up in Brazil, he still can't figure out what's so shameful about being called Marcia, no matter how many drugs Mark swears her mother was on when she picked the name. The clothes, he's learned since, are a dead giveaway for most people. It's true, Mark has no fashion sense whatsoever, she seems to pick her clothes in the dark, always three sizes too big and mostly from the boys section of the GAP. And after close inspection, Eduardo's pretty sure you can't chalk up her inability to wear anything that remotely matches to her color blindness.

And Dustin's right. Mark doesn't date. At all. She's never shown interest in any other girl on campus, even though Eduardo knows she's received a few offers. (According to Katie, from his Calculus class, Mark has 'future power lesbian' written all over her, whatever that means).

"So, foam party at AEPi!" Dustin says, standing up. "You coming?"

"Nah, Mark's dropping by in a bit to play drunken Madden."

"Drunken Madden?" Chris asks.

"It's the only way Wardo gets a chance to beat her."

Eduardo doesn't dignify that with a response. It's not as if Dustin knew for sure, anyway.

"Don't wait up, little Wardo!"

As if on cue, Mark walks in the door two minutes after Chris and Dustin have left, without knocking as usual, unopened bottle of Smirnoff in her hand. 

Two hours later, they've relocated to Eduardo's bed after one of the glasses perilously teetering on the arm of the couch fell over, spilling vodka and orange juice all over the cushions.

"And it doesn't bother me," Mark says, out of the blue. Eduardo is quite used to Mark uttering random conclusions out loud without bothering to provide mere mortals with any kind of context. It's even worse when she's half-drunk.

"Hmn?" It's all he says. She'll get around to her point, he knows.

"It doesn't bother me, I swear. Most days. Obviously I didn't come to Harvard to catch a rich husband, like all those girls from Porter's. And even if I did... I know what I look like, okay?"

Eduardo's head lolls to the side. "A husband?"

"I know, right? As if this was 1953 or something. _God_."

"And what do you mean what you look like?"

"Wardo. Do you know how many people think I'm a lesbian?"

Eduardo doesn't know. How many freshmen are there? "Wait. You're not out?"

"Out of what?"

"This conversation is giving me a headache."

"Actually, I'm out of vodka. It's all gone," she says morosely, staring into her empty glass.

Eduardo chuckles and stands up. "Let me get you a refill."

"You're such a gentleman, Wardo." And now Eduardo knows Mark's well on her way to being drunk, because there's no way she'd tell him something like that without the slightest trace of irony if she were perfectly sober.

"Don't laugh at me. You really are. You're always opening doors for me and bringing me food and stuff."

"Not wanting you to die at your desk has nothing to do with being a gentleman, Mark," he says while putting ice in the glasses. "If I didn't bring you food when you're coding, you'd starve."

"Why don't you have a girlfriend, Wardo?"

Eduardo's hand pauses halfway to the vodka bottle. "What?"

"You should stop hanging out with me so much or you'll never find a girlfriend."

"I don't think hanging out with you is the reason why I don't have a girlfriend." Except for how it really is, although not in the way Mark means it. He sighs and pads back to the bed to sit next to her.

"I think it'd be nice," she mumbles and places her drink on the floor carefully.

"What would?"

Her answer is muffled by her grey sweatshirt as she takes it off. She's only wearing a white tank top underneath, and apparently she forgot to put on a bra today. Eduardo would like to know which serial killer he was in a past life.

"What?"

"To have a boyfriend."

Eduardo chokes on his drink. " _What_?"

"I know, I know. I'm aware not even that creepy janitor in Lowell finds me attractive, okay? I must be the only girl on campus whose ass he hasn't ever tried to grope."

"He's probably afraid of you, Mark."

"That's not it. And don't try to distract me."

"But... why does it even bother you? You never care about what people think, as you repeatedly inform them."

"Because today I do, okay? And most days I don't give a fuck, and I know I should try harder and be more feminine and stop buying my hoodies from the men's department but I've no idea how to be girly, Wardo! I feel ridiculous when I try. I can't even put on make up without making myself look like a hooker with Parkinson's."

Eduardo is speechless. This is like meeting a wholly different person he didn't even know existed but somehow looks exactly like his best friend.

"It's just... I'm still a girl, you know? As pathetic as it sounds. And when even the creepiest guy alive finds me repulsive, just like every other man in Harvard, it's... I don't know. But just once, and if you laugh at me I'll fucking kill you, just once I would like a boy to look at me and think I'm... pretty." The last word is so quiet Eduardo doubts he would've caught it if they weren't sitting less than a foot apart. There's the germ of an idea growing in his mind, and Eduardo feels dizzy all of a sudden.

"Mark? I'm gonna ask you something, and you have to promise you won't get mad at me, okay?"

"That's stupid. I can't promise not to get mad if I don't kn—"

"Just... just trust me."

"Fine. Yeah. I promise."

"Mark, you're not... you're not a lesbian, are you?"

"Fuck you, Wardo!" she snaps and jumps off the bed. "Fuck. You. I just told you someth-"

"You promised!"

"But I didn't know you were gonna ins—"

"You promised, Mark!"

Mark crosses her arms under her chest in a way that's... really distracting. But at least she's letting him speak. Eduardo swallows against the lump in his throat and looks at the floor. "Wait. It... it gets worse. I do think you're... I _like_ you, Mark. _All_ the time. I like when it's 30 degrees outside and you forget to wear a jacket and borrow mine, and then you give it back and it smells like you. And I love how you're always at war with your hair but won't cut it because your mother would be upset, and the way you keep chewing on that goddamned dart while you code drives me _insane_ and you don't even notice you're doing it, and I just... I lo- I like you, okay? I like you a lot."

A long silence. Eduardo can hear laughter in the distance, faint steps on the stairs walking past their landing, the noise of doors banging closed. He should probably just leave.

"You thought I was a lesbian?"

Eduardo cringes. "I'm sorry."

"And you _like_ me?"

"I'm... sorry about that too?"

Mark is barreling towards him and Eduardo thinks it's a strange way to go, strangled to death on his own bed by a girl and not even in a sexy way. But it turns out, Mark is not trying to murder him at all. She's straddling his lap and... kissing him.

"You are" kiss "the most" kiss "stupid guy" kiss "I've ever met" kiss "how'd you get into Harvard?" kiss "I really" kiss "hate you right now."

"I'm..." he trails off and his hands come up to rest on her waist. To steady her or himself, he couldn't say. "I'm getting mixed messages here." 

"Shut up and kiss me, Wardo."

At first, Eduardo doesn't know where to put his hands (he wants them _everywhere_ ) or whether to close his eyes or not (he wants to make sure this is truly happening). Mark is non-so-gently nudging him backwards, but if they lie down, on his bed...

"Mark. _Mark_. Stop. Please stop," she doesn't seem to be listening, which is good, it's a sign this is really Mark and not some pod person, so he pries her hands away from his shirt and pulls back, holding her wrists to keep her at a distance. "Stop."

Mark blinks once, twice. The messy bun she usually wears her hair in is almost completely undone (Eduardo vaguely remembers running his hands through her hair, the way he'd always wanted to) and she's breathing heavily. "Stop," he says again. Mark's eyes narrow and he can physically see the walls going up again. She starts moving away from his lap, but Eduardo doesn't let go of her wrists so she can't go far. "No. Wait. _Wait_."

She's resolutely not looking at him. "Mark. We're in my bed. Alone. And I've been thinking about this... well. For a very long time, okay?" He takes a deep breath. "If you keep... maybe we should take this slow, all right?"

"Is that what you want?"

"I want... is this a one-time thing?"

"What?"

"For you. Is this a one-time thing because you're feeling..." he doesn't know how to finish that. Mark probably wouldn't appreciate him telling her she's feeling anything. "Because of what you told me before."

"You want to know whether I'm using you to cure my self-esteem issues?"

"It sounds really lame when you put it that way."

"Probably because it is. Also, are you sure there isn't anything wrong with you? Because you're a red-blooded 19-year-old, turning down a girl who's _in his lap_."

Eduardo laughs. "Yeah, I never said I was normal."

Mark looks at him and her eyes soften. She kisses him, short and light, and stands up. Eduardo knows it's the right thing to do, but hates himself a little for letting her. Except... she's not leaving. She's closing the door of Eduardo's bedroom and locking it. She turns around and leans against the doorframe, biting her lip. She seems to come to a decision, because she's now walking towards the bed and... oh, _God_. She's unbuttoning her oversized jeans and kicking them off as she goes. Eduardo gulps. When she comes to stand in front of him in nothing but a white tank top and underwear, he has to close his eyes for a moment. Maybe this is one of his dreams. He's had this one before. Any minute now he'll wake up in his Micro class, drooling on his textbook and with a raging hard-on.

Mark raises a hesitant hand towards his face and cups his jaw, kissing him softly, barely a brush of lips. When she steps back again, it's to strip completely. Eduardo wonders whether this is what an aneurism feels like. He's not exactly... he's seen naked girls before, he had girlfriends in high school and in Harvard (last year, before Mark enrolled and his life was turned upside down) but this... this is _Mark_ , naked and beautiful and _his_ for the taking, and he almost can't breathe, because pipe dreams aren't supposed to come true, not for him at least.

"I... you are... you..."

"Are you always this articulate during sex? Because I guess talking dirty is out of the question, then."

And Eduardo laughs because it's Mark, somewhere inside this strange creature in his room. He leans forward and kisses the dip between her breasts, then takes both of her hands and tugs her towards him while letting himself fall back on the bed.

Mark in bed is the exact same way she is everywhere else. Focused, undeterred, and easily frustrated. When Eduardo's shirt buttons prove too resistant for her tastes, she simply tugs it over his head before he can even offer to help. He'll probably be finding errant buttons under the furniture for months to come.

Eduardo suddenly flips them over and Mark makes a sound of surprise that he's never heard before. She doesn't feel nearly as imposing when she's trembling under him as she usually does, glaring over the lid of her laptop at everyone and everything. When he enters her, she gasps loudly and her eyes widen and he thinks... no, it can't be.

"If you," she pants, "if you say anything, I'll kill you, I—"

"Shhhh, s'okay, s'okay," he says and places a kiss against her temple. He can't believe it. There's a constant mantra of why me, why me, why me running through his head as he moves inside her and he kisses her again to make it go away. "God, I love you."

He realizes he's said it out loud because Mark freezes and the pressure of the nails digging into his shoulders becomes almost painful.

"Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."

Mark is studying him with a closed-off expression. It's rare to have her undivided attention, Eduardo is used to maybe a third of it, half if he's lucky or she's drunk or sleep-deprived enough that paying attention to five things at once becomes too much effort. He's never felt the weight of her scrutiny for such a long time. It's a little overwhelming. And then she tilts up her hips and his eyes slide shut because it's _too much_.

Later, much later, Eduardo's almost asleep with Mark half-lying on top of him, a tangle of limbs in the narrow twin bed. It isn't by far the first time they've slept in the same bed, but it's certainly the first time they've been naked under the covers. Mark is tracing and retracing the line of his collarbone, back and forth, back and forth.

"Just so we're clear. I want... it's not a one-time thing," she whispers.

"Hmn?"

"For me. It's not a one-time thing. With you."

Eduardo holds her a little tighter and answers, "Good," into her hair. "Good."

 

:::

Dustin wakes up to the agonising sounds of the shower running. Harvard may be all about not settling for anything below the best of the best, but sadly that philosophy doesn't extend to the plumbing. He covers his head with his pillow and tries to go back to sleep, but it doesn’t work. By the time the water stops running, he’s fully awake, so he just pushes back the covers with a resigned groan.

Of all the things Dustin expects to see when he stumbles out of bed following the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, a girl in nothing but one of Eduardo's monogrammed towels with her head buried in the fridge isn't high on the list. To be fair, it isn't on the list _at all_. From this angle, Dustin can tell she's got great legs and a very nice rear. But mostly what he thinks is that last night Eduardo must've found the time after Mark kicking his ass at Madden to go out and score with a hot chick who is apparently making him breakfast. Wow. Dustin wonders if Breakfast Hottie maybe has a friend she could introduce him to.

Breakfast Hottie is humming as she bumps the fridge door with her hip to close it and turns around.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"Oh my God, Dustin, you scared the crap out of me!" 

"Where is Breakfast Hottie?"

"Wh— are you still drunk?" Mark asks and wraps the towel more tightly around herself, looking quite uncomfortable. But Dustin never gets to answer, because Eduardo walks out of the bathroom, a towel around his hips.

"Hey, do you wan—" he says but stops dead in his tracks when he spots Dustin. "Oh. Hi, Dustin." He awkwardly crosses his arms over his chest as if that would make him feel better about the fact that he's half-naked.

Dustin has an IQ of 143 and joined MENSA at the age of 3. He will feel the need to remind himself of this fact later, because it takes him an embarrassing amount of time to connect the dots. Although he fears the first words out of his mouth might've knocked him into Forrest Gump levels anyway. "You're… wearing matching towels."

 

:::

 

The funny thing is, nothing really changes. They're studying in the common room like any other evening. Mark is sitting sideways on one end of the couch, laptop balanced on her knees, while Eduardo sits on the other. Well, maybe some things _have_ changed. Mark's feet are resting on Eduardo's lap, and he's absentmindedly tracing circles on her bare ankle. Whenever he becomes too absorbed in his Political Thought book and stops, she lets out a small protesting grunt. Eduardo smiles and tickles her foot softly in apology before resuming the movement. It's a strange combination of the old Mark and the new one and Eduardo can't get enough of it.

"I think I liked her better when she was a lesbian," Dustin says from his desk, where he and Chris are working on some group assignment for their Electronics class. 

"She was never a lesbian, Dustin," Chris corrects distractedly.

"And can you believe that hot redhead from my OS class asked me for Wardo's number?"

"How does she even know you're friends with him?"

"No idea. But apparently the fact that he can convert lesbians means he has a magic dick or something."

"Once again, she wasn't a lesbian to begin with, Dustin."

"Yeah, I know, but-"

"You guys _are_ aware that we can hear you, right?" Eduardo says.

"And if you give anyone Wardo's number because that might earn you points, Moskovitz, I'll hack into your file and knock three points off your GPA."

Dustin gestures wildly in a 'see what I mean' way. Eduardo hides his grin behind his book and squeezes Mark's ankle with his free hand.

"I stand corrected," Dustin says. "I liked you _both_ better when she was a lesbian."


End file.
